


Let Me Be Your Killer King

by iniquiticity



Series: by nightlights [1]
Category: 18th Century CE RPF, American Revolution RPF, Hamilton - Miranda, Historical RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - FickleObssessions' Vampire AU, Alternate Universe - Vampire, BDSM, Blow Jobs, Degrading Language, Dom/sub, Frottage, M/M, Power Dynamics, Prenegotiated Kink, Sub Washington, boot kink, collaring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-05
Updated: 2016-08-05
Packaged: 2018-07-29 09:52:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7679797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iniquiticity/pseuds/iniquiticity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They had already spoke about it, in dark whispers, in post-sex haze, over bloodless corpses. A secret. A dream, really. It had seemed harmless then, when Washington had murmured it into his ear. This, to make it real --</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let Me Be Your Killer King

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Sun Down on the Sorry Day](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7671178) by [Fickle_Obsessions](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fickle_Obsessions/pseuds/Fickle_Obsessions). 



> jesus christ i read [Sweet Baby, I Need Fresh Blood](http://archiveofourown.org/series/518086) and then I started talking to FickleObsessions about boot kink to which the response was "oh, I'm saving it for my Top!Laf fic" and we got to talking about it, and, well, here we are. Thanks for this very fertile valley in which I shall plant more sexy vampire seeds. 
> 
> title from "victorious," by panic! at the disco. you can always reach me at [picklesnake on twitter](https://twitter.com/picklesnake), or [iniquiticity on tumblr.](http://iniquiticity.tumblr.com/)

**

Lafayette took a breath, as if such a thing would fill him with confidence. They had already spoke about it, in dark whispers, in their post-sex haze, over bloodless corpses. A secret. A dream, really. It had seemed harmless then, when Washington had murmured it into his ear. This, to make it real -- 

He would. He could never show hesitation. And even less now, when that was the point. His father -- it was not really such a thing, but Washington liked it so much, in the darkness in his eyes. It was something, to hitch the breath of a creature that was no longer required to breathe. He touched his neck and straightened his spine. Dreamed of those fangs in his neck, and some unknowable, eternal future. 

He clicked open the door. Washington was reading a book, his posture stiff and familiar. Washington did not look up at him. Lafayette long knew Washington did not need to look at him to know he was there. 

He clicked the door closed. Locked. He did not take a breath for confidence; Washington would know. He only forced his fear and his lack of confidence from his thoughts and walked forward. Without asking, he elegantly sat himself on top of the broad oak desk that Washington had taken from one place to another. 

Washington looked up at him, his face stone. He folded the book closed, and set it to the side. He was waiting, in the way that he did. There was always something predatory, to this creature that he loved. Washington waited like a lion in grass and Lafayette loved it. Lafayette would play the doe every day.

He bit firmly down on the inside of his mouth, and pushed forward. 

What he did was he sling himself easy over the broad length of the desk, balancing back on his arms. He set one ragged boot - Hamilton was always giving him a hard time about the state of his boots, unpolished and muddy from the October rains - on the beautiful stained wood, and the other against Washington’s shoulder, smearing mud against the pristine ivory waistcoat. 

There was a terrible moment, where Lafayette thought that he had erred. That their discussions had been all humor, and his intrusion would be unwelcome, and lead to his death, or worse, expulsion from the family he had come to require the company of. Washington’s stone eyes met his, impassive. He knew Washington had fed quite well the previous evening, and there was still a little redness in the tint of his cheeks, barely enough for him to pass as alive, as if he would ever deign himself to do so. 

He pressed the heel of his boot into Washington’s shoulder. He had overcome everything else to come here, to sit at the side of this creature who had consumed his world. He had burned away all the fear and terror. 

Washington hissed in a little breath. Lafayette’s ears, attuned to the breathing of a dead man, caught it. Then, this beautiful, eternal thing pushed the high-backed chair that he sat in away, and set himself on the floor, on one knee. Prostrated himself to Lafayette, and bowed his head, tilted just enough so that his perfect queue slid away to reveal the length of his neck. It was a slight thing, and perhaps another man might not have noticed it. If it was not a man who had spent so much time in the presence of this majestic thing, if it was not a man who desired nothing more than the company of this majestic thing - they might not know the significance of such a gesture. Lafayette tried to force his heart to stop pounding. He knew Washington would have preferred him to appear unaffected, in their game. He could not. He was only human, at least for now. He could only deny so much excitement at once. 

“My liege,” Washington said, to the ground. 

At this Lafayette did manage to repress the shiver that threatened to rip through him, though he could not deny the little gasp that he made. With Washington properly kneeling at his feet, Lafayette felt a confused, delicious sense of heat. There was peculiar wrongness to it, to have Washington offering his services like this. A wrongness that stirred the heat in his stomach, that felt like whetting his appetite. If he could have Washington kneel for him - if he could have Washington bear his neck for him -- if he could be permitted to smear mud into Washington’s flawless clothes -- 

Affecting the most distance he could, he pulled his boot from Washington’s shoulder and studied the mudstain there, then slung his body properly over the desk to stand in front of kneeling vampire. He had made some plans in his head, for this situation, but he had no real thoughts anymore. He wondered if it was like this, to be enthralled. 

Washington glanced up at him. His eyes flickered. “More,” he said. A command. 

“It is unusual,” Lafayette replied, as if that could explain the wild swings of his mind, and his chest, and his groin. 

“Persevere,” Washington replied, and then inched himself forward and reached for Lafayette, a hand wrapped around his calf with uncommon tenderness. He tilted his head back down and did something Lafayette did not understand with the slump of his shoulder. He looked smaller, somehow. He had shrunk himself. 

Lafayette focused on the touch of cool fingers through his stocking. He had focused before; he had overcome great odds; he made great accomplishments. He was more than capable. He _could._

“Unhand me, worm,” he said, in a voice he did not intend. The words had the intended effect despite the audible insecurity; he felt a tremble in the fingers against him, and they were promptly removed. The hand was placed on the ground, fingers spread. The other hand rested by the forearm across Washington’s bent knee. 

“Please accept my most sincere apologies, Marquis,” Washington said, in the voice of a servant, and not the masterful, eternal thing that he was. Lafayette took two breaths and forced himself to settle. It would be so easy to tilt Washington’s mouth up and kiss him. It would be so easy to lay down, and pull Washington upon him, and allow himself to be had. 

He did not. He would not. The game clearly evidently did things to Washington. Things Lafayette longed to do. 

“I shall consider it,” he said, and forced himself to be sharp. Washington made a noise Lafayette had never heard before. A whimper. He bit down on his mouth, lest he moan. He could drown, and they had barely done anything. He had to continue to surge. He needed the thread of momentum. His wave could not break. “Be disciplined, you dog,” he said down his nose to Washington, and then he took his lover by the back of his head and pressed his face into the evident pleasure between his legs. Washington’s skin was a few notches above unfed coolness, but not quite warm; Lafayette could feel Washington’s breathing, his human habit - the breaths shuddering through the cloth, against his sensitive skin. But he did as he was ordered, and held still, even if Lafayette could sense his restrained desire. He was drunk on the thing, half-mad at the thought, nonetheless the very _action,_ of holding Washington’s head against his crotch. He rubbed Washington’s face against him, and groaned at the thing. It was wild. He wanted. God, he wanted -- 

He stepped back, and leaned himself against the desk. Washington looked up at him with a new expression. Hunger, yes, he knew the hunger. But -- there was something there, exposed - Washington’s feelings, _exposed!_ \- in his eyes. 

He was well-into their game. Lafayette would not disappoint. Did not disappoint. 

“Allow me to prove my loyalty to you, my liege, my grand Marquis. I shall overcome every task you grant to me. I am your most obedient servant.” 

Lafayette dug his consciousness out of the drunk lust in which it swam. This was too much for one mortal man. 

“Undress to the waist, and polish my boot,” he said, all in one breath. He thought he might have slurred the words, but Washington heard and understood. His fingers twisted skillfully around his waistcoat buttons, pulling the stained thing off of his body and discarding it onto the floor. Next, he unbuttoned the undershirt, until his skin was bare. Lafayette, of course, had seen him naked repeatedly, but every time it was a revelation. A few scars traced their way across his skin, age-old. He drew his hand across Washington’s powerful shoulder, because he could not resist himself. He had become long-accustomed to the cool plane of it; in fact, he thought sometimes his own flesh was too warm. 

“If it pleases my liege to sit on the desk, so that his most excellent boot may be polished,” Washington said, to the ground. Lafayette could not stifle the groan entirely. He did as Washington asked; Washington reached into a bottom drawer for shoe polish and a rag, and for a second Lafayette was thrown. He could not have _normally_ had shoe polish in his desk. He must have expected Lafayette - to ask - to play this game - to ---

“You guessed I might ask you to shine my boots?” he said, baffled. Washington looked up at him and smirked, and for a second their joint-spell was broken. 

“I find it is best to be prepared for as many events as possible, and especially the ones you might hope for the most,” Washington replied. He stood for a moment, and bent forward, and Lafayette could not resist the tender kiss, even though he knew he should have been stern. “This is wonderful,” Washington said into his mouth, before he pulled his chair close and sat in it, taking Lafayette’s muddy boot in his lap. 

“With your shirt,” Lafayette managed, barely, “Your clothes are mine. You are mine.” 

Washington choked down some noise that he made in his throat, and he bent over the side of his chair to recover the missing article of clothing. The fine silk would be ruined by the polish, yes; honestly, Lafayette thought that a shoe shined with silk might not even manage to have the best possible shine. But all of that hardly mattered. 

He watched as Washington applied himself with an uncharacteristic studiousness to the task. Usually, Washington managed everything with a powerful, noble ease. He accomplished his goals without any visible effort, so different than what he seemed like now. Somehow, and without Lafayette understanding, he became smaller. He shrunk his bulk with a particular set of his shoulders. He seemed like hired muscle. Lafayette had a wild fantasy of Washington as a dockworker, rough and strong and rippling and cursing. Unrestrained strength. A brute. 

His lover, a brute. He chuckled at the thought, though any humor of it disappeared when he lifted his other foot and rested it against Washington’s bare shoulder. Washington made a noise that twisted hard in Lafayette’s stomach. 

“Done, sir,” Washington said, and pulled the cloth away. Lafayette pulled his booted foot from Washington’s shoulder to see the skin barely reddened by it, and studied his shined boot. Silk or not, the job was half-finished and terrible. If a real servant had shined his boot in such a manner, he would have the man’s dinner taken away, or, perhaps if his mood was particularly awful, flogged. 

A bolt of thought struck him. Maybe his lover had --- 

“You have done an awful job,” Lafayette pronounced. Washington’s throat bobbed, and Lafayette thought again that he had done so on purpose. If he wanted this, to be demeaned -- 

“I should have you shine it with your mouth,” he snapped, and Washington hissed in a breath. Maybe next time, Lafayette thought. He felt drunk on this again, now that they were clear into playing. It was difficult to maintain himself, under the hot pressure of the game. He felt adrift, with a sad little raft. He needed a line, that he could pull himself with. He closed his eyes and sucked in a breath. The approval was evident and delicious and addicting. He wondered how far there was to go. There might be more to go. 

“Why is it that I soil my company with a beast like you, when you are not even fit to shine a man’s boot?” he continued, and Washington bent his head lower, as if he could accept the harsh words directly to the back of his neck. “Do you know that if I desired, I could deposit you into the refuse pile that you belong? I could instead have the company of the finest lords and ladies. The most beautiful men and women. You know what I can attract, when I try.” 

There was a pause, and for a second the reality wormed into the game, and Lafayette’s chest twisted hard, with something like pain -- 

“Please,” Washington whispered, his head still bent. It was a tiny little word, a breath. 

It was desperate and delicious. A beg. A plea, from the most incredible thing he had ever known. It untwisted the fear in his stomach and released him from his worries. It held him when he was afraid and comforted him in his darkness. He gripped the thing and pushed forward into the unknown. 

“And instead, for reasons I cannot discern, here I sit in the company of a dog with a taste for carrion.” He grabbed Washington’s hand, dead weight, and studied it with his best distasteful face. Washington’s hands were powerful, wide and broad and impressive. He had a little scar on his palm that Lafayette had never noticed before. 

He dropped the hand as if it was rotting. 

“Please, my liege,” Washington murmured, something raw in the edge of his voice, “Do not abandon me. I shall be your most loyal, most obedient, most dutiful soldier. I shall attend to your every need. I can be used in every way. It is only that your company is so magnificent, that I am so weak as if to desire you, despite that I do not deserve you.” 

Oh, it was too much, and he was going to drown. He was not very good at playing this game, at this level of difficulty. To have to pretend how much he did not care, to pretend that this thing did not strike him hot at the core of his being, did not make him want so hotly that it was difficult to resist the urge to throw himself into Washington’s lap and pull that sweet tongue into his mouth. 

He took a breath and summoned his willpower. 

“You do not deserve me,” he retorted, and Washington made a pathetic whimper that struck and lodged in the base of Lafayette’s spine like a bullet. “And yet I keep your secrets. That you are a night-wretch, preying on the noble. Why do I not betray you to a local guard, vulture?”

“Oh, sir, do not, please. I shall serve you the best. I will make myself useful, so you will not reveal me.” 

It was too sweet. Lafayette slipped off the table back onto his feet. He reached down, sliding his hand under Washington’s chin and tilting that magnificent face up to look at his. It was -- Washington looked beautiful, more beautiful than usual. There was a hint of a blush to his cheeks. His mouth had relaxed from its familiar stern line into a soft, concerned frown. The wrinkles which wore themselves into his forehead had smoothed themselves out. His stone eyes were soft, and hid his thoughts only like a dense fog that Lafayette could see through, if he tried. 

“Maybe I only keep you because you are exquisite,” he said, as dismissively as he could, “You know, I have a habit of keeping rare and beautiful things.” 

A flicker of a smirk appeared on Washington’s mouth, before his face became pleading again. They both knew the line. “I only hope I can be exquisite for you for as long as you desire me.” 

“I think you can,” Lafayette replied. He traced his thumb down the plane of Washington’s cheek, felt cool, smooth skin under the warm pad of his thumb. “Perhaps I will only reveal to Hamilton and Arnold that you prefer to be under my thumb.” 

At this Washington’s face went slack with horror. His thoughts were so clearly visible in his eyes that Lafayette was struck speechless again and brought out of the game. He had not meant to be so harsh. Perhaps a thing had been too personal, or too close, or--

Washington’s hand covered the one he had placed on his cheek and squeezed it, uncharacteristically affectionate. Lafayette took a deep breath and scowled. 

“You were not allowed to touch me, dog,” he hissed. Washington dropped his eyes and his hand. “If anything, I should reveal you because of it.” 

Washington went to shake his head, but Lafayette gripped his chin more firmly. 

“Tell me why I should not reveal you, you despicable beast.” 

Washington swallowed and Lafayette saw his throat bob. Washington closed his eyes, and there was something unfamiliar and relaxed about his face. The lines around his eyes were less firm, even if he maintained the marble beauty that had attracted Lafayette to him in the first place, long before he had known the secret he threatened to share. 

“You may only reveal me once, Marquis,” Washington said, in a voice very unlike his own, with none of the command he usually possessed. “Once you have used that card, you can no longer. As long as you hold it, I am leashed to you, like the dog that I am.” 

Oh. 

_Oh._

Lafayette had the sight clear in his mind, of a supple leather collar around his lover’s throat. He knew, of course, that they played this game in secret, that it could never be outside, could never be public or revealed. But nevertheless he envisioned Washington with a collar underneath his neckcloth or cravat, tight over his throat. And worse, a chain that lead from that collar that he could hold. That he could pull, to bring the jewel of his heart to heel. 

“Like the dog that you are,” he repeated, mouth gone dry. He could not restrain himself any longer, thinking of what it might be like to pull Washington by a chain, thinking about him wearing a collar, hidden, for them, for _him_ \-- 

He let go Washington’s chin. His hands went to the ties of his breeches. Washington’s eyes were hungry as he watched, his own hands remaining still around his legs. He was still kneeling, Lafayette noticed. He wondered if he would ever have the discipline Washington possessed. 

“Kneel,” Lafayette said, so Washington rearranged himself and placed his hands on his thighs, a perfect supplicant. He thought he should be angry at Washington for the way those eyes followed his hands as he drew himself, hot in his hand, from his breeches. But it was too difficult, with how much he wanted, with the way the game muddled with his brains, made him feel drunk on something new. It was too difficult to be so commanding. “Pleasure me.” 

Washington’s hands lifted from his thighs. Lafayette made a noise in his throat. 

“With your mouth alone,” he said. Washington made a reedy, beautiful little whine, and inched forward. He allowed Lafayette to feed him his length. It was wonderful, wet and surprisingly soft, tongue agile. Lafayette rocked his hips once, studied the reaction. His hand found the back of Washington’s head and he managed an experimental thrust into that mouth. He was concerned, admittedly, that to watch it might bring the end quicker, but it was impossible to look away. Washington’s face was slack, his mouth pressed tight, forming a perfect seal. He looked different, without his familiar tension. Younger, even though Lafayette knew him to be hundreds of years old.

“You are beautiful,” he murmured, and he fucked that perfect mouth a little harder, watched this lovely thing between his legs accommodate him. “A beautiful worm,” he added, remembering, “An obedient dog. A well-trained vulture.” 

Each one drew a ragged groan from Washington’s throat that vibrated through Lafayette. He needed that, as he took and took and took. Washington gave. Gave to him this thing that he had never knew that he wanted. Gave to him opportunity and affection and power and knowledge. Gave to him a family. Sated his lusts in a way no man or woman or creature had ever done before. 

He thrust deep, felt Washington’s throat around him. He didn’t gag, of course. He felt Washington’s throat swallow around him and moaned, ragged. 

“Again,” he said, and Washington forced another swallow. He pulled his hips back and pushed them forward, deep and hard, faster now, pushing himself as much as he liked. He came with a gasp in the cool cavern of that mouth, and felt himself thoroughly cleaned and worshipped, smothered with tender kindness, careful of how sensitive he was. He let himself fall from Washington’s mouth - watched Washington chase him, kiss the tender of head of his cock with affection, with delicate little licks of his red tongue. He leaned against the desk and caught his breath and watched the most powerful creature he had ever known tease his face against his softening prick. 

“Do you think you deserve an end?” he murmured, still breathless, as he stroked the top of Washington’s head, “Have you been an adequate worm for me?” 

“I always only desire to be the best worm for you, my liege,” Washington said, into his thigh, “I deserve only what you deign to give to me. Your table scraps are my gold.” 

A shiver passed down his spine, and his cock twitched despite itself. “I think you have,” he decided, because there was never any real choice otherwise. He gathered himself and pushed off from the desk, looking down at where Washington knelt. He was so still. “Stand.” 

Lafayette took in the powerful body that rose. The bare skin, just barely flushed. The powerful thighs and the breeches cut to match. The strong shoulders and the curve of biceps. The firm neck. He reached forwards and drew the flat off his palms down the bare stomach, then kissed where the long-unbeating heart rested. After a moment, he stepped closer, slotting his thigh between those powerful legs, pressing them together. “If you wish an end,” he murmured into Washington’s neck, and drew his tongue across the empty veins that went up it, “You may bring yourself off like the dog that you are.” 

Washington sucked in a breath, and he nodded, and ground himself against Lafayette’s flexed thigh. It was a sight. It was the sort of thing a man never forgot. It was the sort of thing a man always came back to, when he took himself in his hand in his private darkness. To see this magnificent thing rut against him, that he could bring this about, that his lover - that Washington - would submit to this at all -- 

“Do you enjoy it?” he murmured, as he listened to Washington’s desperate, habitual pants, “Pleasuring yourself on me like a dog in heat?” 

“I do, sir, I do,” Washington replied, breathless. 

“I expect you to finish for me promptly,” Lafayette said, and would have denied how surprised he was that Washington jerked, and gasped, and shook, very soon after. There was not enough new blood in him for a mess, but there had been enough for this, and the clenching of muscles, and the magnificent mental state of the recently-pleasured. Washington slumped himself back into the forgotten chair, limp, his eyes half-lidded. He reached out lazily and found Lafayette’s arm and tugged, half-wanting. There was a sluggishness to him, which he did not usually manage, even post-orgasm. Lafayette thought about chastising him, but went anyway; he could hardly deny his enjoyment at being in Washington’s lap, game or no game. 

As it tended to, Washington’s nose found his neck. Lafayette relaxed into the cool hands that slid around his waist and pulled them close, his back pressed to Washington’s chest. 

“I wouldn’t really tell Hamilton and Arnold,” he said, and this provoked a surprised chuckle. 

“I don’t think you would,” Washington responded, with an uncharacteristic note of good humor. There was a pause, as that wet mouth slid over his neck. He shuddered. “I enjoyed that. More than I expected to.” 

Lafayette took a breath and nodded in agreement. He tilted his head up and received the kiss he was accustomed to. It was good, to have Washington’s tongue in his mouth again. When they had to break for him to breathe, they looked at each other for a long time. Even with the tension back to his face, Washington looked a little more at ease. Something like but not quite a smile crept into the side of his mouth, and Lafayette studied it for a moment, a gentle puzzlement in his eyes. 

“Woof,” Washington said, and bright, loud laugh pushed itself from Lafayette’s chest. He burrowed himself, as he liked to, into the cool, magnificent embrace of his lover.


End file.
